


In This Perfect Madness

by Atanih88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: salt_burn_porn, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt - <i>In this perfect madness</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Perfect Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for salt_burn_porn for orbiting_saturn's prompt. Quick once over, so unbeta'd, apologies for any/all mistakes ^^;

It's so easy to slip into it. 

It's there, hiding in small shadowed pockets inside his head, little dark voids that have soaked in the essence of purgatory and refused to let it go once he was out again.

They have long fingers that reach for his emotions, pluck at them and play them like strings until they morph and twist, turn them until they're out of shape and grotesque.

Dean doesn't tell Sam this. Sam's already dealt with his own private madness. It's not fair for Dean to make Sam share his, too.

Except that maybe he should. Because he doesn't know. He doesn't know what part of him has okayed this—has okayed the way he's spread out on the bed, teeth grinding and hands locked on the rungs of the headboard.

It's one of the fancier places they've stayed in, bed fancy, iron wrought and mattress soft as feathers beneath Dean. It doesn't even squeak as Dean arcs off of it, breathing through his nose, eyes shutting tight because Sam's just nudged his legs even further apart and squeezed a fourth finger in there too. And fuck—the stretch has his chest heaving and his dick arching towards his stomach, precome a thin string between the slit of his dick and stomach from where it had been pressed to his skin a little earlier, under the calloused rub of Sam's hand.

"You okay?" Sam's voice sounds like it's been ground into gravel and he's out of breath, as if just doing this to Dean is wringing him out. "Dean?" His eyebrows are furrowed and he's bent over Dean, knees planted firmly between his legs, pressing against the sides of Dean's thighs and keeping them open.

They haven't put the lights on but the curtains are open. Doesn't matter much since they're on the second floor but it lets the streetlights spill into the room, highlighting the rigid lines of Sam's chest and shoulders, the corded muscles of his arms that flex with the twist of Sam's fingers in Dean's ass and Dean's breath shudders out of him, belly quivering with it. "Yeah.".

It's gotten so that he can't separate the two, can't separate the emotions that should be and the emotions that are soaked in the inky essence of that other world he'd been stuck in. What he's sure of is that, as he is now, he needs this. He needs this and at least Sam's here to give it to him, to _allow_ him this.

The worry seems to seep out of Sam at that and he nods, eyes dropping back to the space between them. His mouth parts a little and Dean looks down too, wants to see what Sam's seeing, knows that it's just feeding those little spaces in his mind that are gobbling this up, capturing it to take a deeper hold on him. He doesn't give a shit. Sam's here with him.

His gaze catches on the sight of Sam's cock, bobbing between his thighs, head leaking and obscenely huge and anticipation coils fast and he clamps down on Sam's fingers in a way that has Sam's eyes snapping back to his face.

Sam stills his fingers, rubs a careful thumb around the rim where it's stretched around them, puffy and slick with lube and spit and the muscles of Dean's thighs tighten as he digs his heels into the bed, hips hitching up into air as Sam tucks that thumb in—pressing—hinting—

And then pulling it away, taking his fingers with it too and leaving nothing but cold air against the sticky skin there.

"Sam?"

Sam just swallows, throat working with it and nods. "Shh, I just—I want to…" 

He doesn't finish, reaches instead for Dean's dick, curling his hand around it and fisting it tight. His thumb smudges over the precome and he settles back on his haunches, curling tighter over Dean until his face is so close that Dean thinks Sam's going to suck him off.

But Sam doesn't. Carefully, gentle with it, he brings blunt thumbs to the head of Dean's cock. 

Dean stiffens, shoulders tensing against the bed and neck craning to stay up as Sam scrapes his thumbnails over his slit, then slowly tugs on the tiny slit a little from both sides, like he's going to try to pry it open.

"Jesus—" it's more of a grunt as Dean squirms in place, letting go of the bed with one hand to grab Sam's wrist. "What are you—"

"Shh," Sam says again, "it's okay. Just—want to see…" he's murmuring the words, still staring down as he continues to play, tugging a little so Dean feels the stretch there, so different and more threatening than when Sam had had four fingers shoved up his ass. It's like Sam's trying to force open every part of Dean that he can manage.

It makes him even harder. And those hidden things in his head come out to play. 

Dean licks his lips; let's himself rub his fingers over the bones of Sam's wrist. "Would you want to?"

Sam looks up. "What?"

Nerves and a touch of fear shiver up his spine, but it's the heat pooling low in his belly that urges him on. "Want to put something in there."

Sam stares at him for a moment, mouth open. Then he shudders. Full on shudders and then curles all the way over Dean, letting go of his cock and curling his arm under Dean's back, trapping Dean's dick against his chest and groaning into Dean's stomach.

"You want that?" he asks, mouth moving over Dean's skin. 

"Do you?"

Sam's hair brushes over Dean, tickling as it teases over his belly button as Sam' nods again. He moves his hands to clamp them over Dean's hips instead and dragging him down the bed until Dean's ass is resting against Sam's upper thighs, Sam's cock bumping its way behind Dean's balls.

"You really like that huh," he says, eyes on the ceiling now, jaw brushing against the side of Sam's face as Sam starts grinding up into him. 

The thought of it scares the crap out of him even as it makes him harder. It would make him cringe too, because how can anything go into something so small but—but with Sam. Dean would let him stuff him full in whatever way he wanted.

"I'll do it," Sam promises into the hollow of Dean's throat. His fingers are holding him so tight Dean can already feel the bruises forming. "I'll do it next time," he reaches down, hand grabbing at Dean's ass, spreading him. With one rough grind of his hips Sam forces the head in past the ring of muscle, which shouldn't even be that bad considering the fingering he'd gotten earlier but—

Fuck.

_Fuck._

"I'll do it while I'm fucking you like this too. It'll probably feel cold going in, you know? It'll probably feel weird," Sam's groaning the words into his skin as he keeps sliding in, just sinking down in one long thrust that has Dean grabbing at Sam's hips, pulling his knees further back and grunting with each inch that crams up into him. "Hurt," Sam gasps and his hips punch in with the word, like it does crazy things to him and if anything, that just makes Dean buck into the short hard fuck, the sounds coming from his own throat feral and demanding. 

Sam turns his face into the side of Dean's throat, ruts into him like he's lost it. "It might hurt—but you'll take it. Dean—won't let you pull away."

"Yeah, yeah."

And Dean wonders if it's him at all. Maybe purgatory is clinging to little corners of his mind. But maybe something's doing the same to Sam.

Maybe it's their own personal brand of fucked up.

Sam gasps and starts trembling against him, mouths at Dean's skin as he fills him up, wet and hot.

Dean doesn't care what part of him okayed this.

It's fucking perfect.

The End


End file.
